The Hill
by colourfuless
Summary: After the war is won, all that is left is the gradual death under the shine of your old glories - The Fated Children age and struggle with the psychological repercussions of saving the world. It all starts with the funeral.
1. i Ad eorum memoriam quos valde amo

_i. Ad eorum memoriam quos valde amo_

_**colourfuless**_

The branches. They rattle like bones.

She can still recall a day when they slid against each other neatly, wet with rainwater and lush with all kinds of greens. When they kissed with perfect harmony and nothing, not wind nor storm, could render them wretched. But now all they do is shiver. Their lungs clatter like emptying jars.

Her voice is hoarse, unsweetened and rough, like a scorpion being pushed through a bottle. But her neck is still long and lovely; her one last beauty. With it she once used to be coy. Flirtatious, even. But today, the black collar of her dress is not tightly buttoned for the sake of enticement. Between the clasps lies her heart. It used to struggle but is now quiet and tame between the metal. It beats with the steadiness of nothing.

The black procession is long, but moves with the grace of a waltz. He would have liked that, things being efficient and neat. Each handkerchief pressed, hands clasped. No overt display of tears or affection. Just conservative grief. She tries so hard, even though it is against her nature. She quells her fire and her water and her ice. She makes her way quietly to the casket.

Their final moment arrives. Some people watch. Some people look away. Some people turn their backs on her and walk off to join the growing pool of mourning near the bottom of the hill. She does the same; showing the back of her ivory neck to them, her last shred of dignity, touches his cold hand with a tenderness she hasn't shown him in a long time.

'_Sorry for leaving,'_ her inner voice says, the one that still retains a touch of childishness and silk, from back during that time. _'But you knew I couldn't stay. Even at its best, we understood.'_

'_Doesn't mean I didn't want to.' _

That thread of truth unravels from the clutches of her tightly buttoned heart. If that should make any difference, she doesn't know yet. If she will burst at the seams with all her truths and lies, she doesn't know yet. Leaning over his body, a small hand on his still chest, she kisses his forehead, and retreats. Her lip doesn't quiver. Her eyes don't fill.

But the buttons of her dress pull at the cloth more and more urgently. She clutches the ones that hold her heart together tightly in her hands.

'_All good things take time, you said to me once. But since then everything has moved so slowly, and I am still wandering.'_

A few watch. A few whisper. Only a handful stand and watch, that slender neck forever turned away, descend the opposite side of the hill in silence.


	2. ii Deus tantum me iudicabit

_ii. Deus tantum me iudicabit_

Selphie notes how close they're standing to each other.

'_It's been such a long time.'_ Almost shoulder to shoulder. Her memories are always collecting sepia tones, but she has to remind herself it's only the wind, the cold late-winter afternoon and the human instinct of gathering together to keep warm that has brought them together this time. And Squall, for the last time. It's all they've got now, really. Memories and compulsions. It's a sad existence

She's missed their faces though, she's realized. And Selphie almost smiles. But the gap of doing and almost is far too wide and deep to jump.

Everyone's leaving. Quietly, they've packed into their cars and driven off. Five silhouettes still linger by the graveside. They've descended the hill and stood a ways away to give them the privacy of grief. They still glance upwards from time to time, however. To watch, and wait for their turn.

And Selphie, she sees as well. Her eyes still hold a glimmer of sun even after so many years of iron clouds. So instead of graves she watches the faces she hasn't seen in a long time, and smiles at the frost sparkling in Quistis' hair. She is glad for its presence.

"Are you staying?" She asks quietly. Her optimism might not be quenched, but her voice as of late is now softer. Less prone to singing, but of soothing instead. Many late nights she's had to talk away ghosts and dark phantoms.

Her friend turns away from the hill, and smiles. "Maybe. I'm not sure yet. I've missed all of you, though."

'_I believe it'_, Selphie thinks, _'I do. But I'm right here now; why do you still stand so apart from me?' _

A frustrated sound comes from beside her, and she watches worriedly as he suddenly turns his back on them and strides a little ways away. Selphie know that now everyone will have noticed what she's had to see. No matter how tall she tries to build him up, he has become small. His hat tilts up to the sky and smoke curls into the air.

"Irvine." She calls cautiously. "Please."

He doesn't reply. The ground is stiff with ice. It chills them down to the bones. The congregation of shadows begins their way down the hill. Selphie starts to reach for him.

"Why did she suddenly come back?" He suddenly questions, before she is able to touch him. His words shatter the thin veneer of frost that has trembled underneath the day's noise. Selphie stops. "Why?"

Eyes of sunshine. They threaten to spill over, and match the gold of the ring on her left hand. To fall and be absorbed into the dirt. Selphie notes how far apart they are. _'It's been such a long time.' _

Of them, Quistis is the first to lift her head at the squeal of tires that shatter the frosted silence and before long, the slamming of the car door. The frantic calling. The approaching footsteps.

Dark forms make their way towards them from both sides. Irvine turns one way, Quistis the other. Selphie looks up at the gray skies and wonders.

'_Was this what you tried to escape, Rinoa?' _


	3. iii Absoluta infinitaque vis

_iii. __Absoluta infinitaque vis_

Quistis only puts her hair down for very special occasions. And now, the sea breeze combs her long blond hair with its fingers as they walk down the wooden dock of the pier, it itself like a ribbon of moonlight. All is quiet and dark except for the gentle lapping of waves and the shimmering reflection of the moon upon it. It pools into Quistis' eyes, and turns her already bright blues into beacons of gray in the impenetrable evening as she stares out into the ocean.

Zell strolls beside her in quiet companionship, his dinner jacket lost, sleeves rolled up, tie already unknotted and thrown across his shoulder. In his hand he clutches the long neck of a bottle of fine Timber wine, half empty; they had laughed and played keep away with it a few yards back, intent on getting drunk. And now they are so, but found they could not keep the hysterical edge of their intoxication.

"You know," Quistis elbows him clumsily, "I am so glad you showed up, no matter how late you were. Really, Squall aside, just for the sake of myself; thank you." She nimbly snatches the bottle from him, and raises it to him before taking a healthy swig. "To my own personal hero of Balamb!"

Zell waves off her praise but after much needling on Quistis' part, takes a deep, flourished bow that makes the both of them double up in laughter. They go off on another high; singing and dancing and laughing, before she collapses on his arm again and mumbles breathily, "Really, thank you. I couldn't have taken it if you weren't there."

"Of course." He sighs deeply, and runs his hand through his hair. Zell turns to the moon for a moment and it shines on his hardened face. Like the trials of life has stretched out is naive and enthusiastic smile. "I mean, it's Squall. He's – He's _ours_, you know." his voice breaks with disbelief, "I'm going to miss him."

Quistis' eyes shine in the moonlight, and she clutches onto his arm tighter.

They continue on their promenade, except for a brief stop in which Quistis slips off her heels and carries them by their thin straps. The power of the ocean rumbles beneath her naked feet and she recalls out of her drunken haze.

"She came. She was there."

Slowly, Zell nods. "Selphie told me." He looks at her. "Did she come up to you guys? Say anything?"

"No." Quistis sees her shape in the shadow of the pier. Still beautiful, still young – but _aged_. The explosive exuberance of the beautiful Rinoa Heartilly quelled into a spark of steady pride. The expression on her face as she walked down the hill – the last look. _'Will it?' _she thinks, _'Is that the last of you, or will you haunt us again?' _"She didn't say a thing."

Zell's voice is as calm and pacified as ever, but his back has gone rigid. "So no explanation. No reason as to why she left him – left all of us so suddenly all those years ago."

Quistis looks upon her former student, studies his face. Behind the practiced expression of neutrality and placidity is tight with anger. Dangerous resentment.

"You blame her." She states quietly, "For everything. For Selphie, Irvine, you, me..." A moment of waves. "Squall."

He doesn't reply, but Zell's head slowly bows like a child caught in the act of a petty crime.

But she doesn't let it – instead Quistis seizes it, and kisses him fiercely on his cheek, like a proud mother. "It's alright," she whispers into his ear, gripping his arm tightly like she'll never let him go, and "everything is going to be okay."

A particularly vicious wave crashes onto the pier; salt water washes their ankles and Zell's face.

* * *

_A long while ago, this same man stood at the pier, and watched his friend slowly disintegrate and fall into the ocean._

_"'She once said, 'If it had been anyone else,'" The crash of the waves carry the words to him;_

_"If it had been anyone else but the two of us...'"_


	4. iv Omnia vincit amor

_iv. __Omnia vincit amor_

_-_

_-  
_

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **All future chapters in _italics _are flashbacks.

-

-

_That day, Irvine woke to a dusty morning and the gentle green of the radio alarm. _

_Propping himself up by the elbows, he sighed heavily and touched his red eyes and scratchy jaw gingerly. The whole room pulsed in the quiet; the time on the clock fluttered its eyelashes like a beautiful woman and waited as Irvine tumbled out of the limbo of sleep, holding his head in his hands._

_A drowsy arm slid off his chest. Her long shape curls and stretches like a contented cat before she turns her back to him. _

_He looked up and watched it for a moment, the gentle up and down motion of her breathing, before crawling out of his bed. _

_The traffic rumbled outside like the daily morning deadlock is taking place right in the room. It was in the midst of that, and the gray-yellow of the suppressed sunlight outside he got dressed as silently as possible. The faucet of the adjacent bathroom squeaked with rust, and Irvine struggled with the wrapping of the small hotel soap, cursing as it fell into the sink. Wiping his face, he knotted his tie and emerged, coat already flung over his arm. _

_He crept past the bed with the rumpled sheets, picked up his briefcase, and opened the door. _

"_Where are you going?"_

_Irvine turned and took in the sight of her sitting up, with her long sculpted legs and eyes limpid with sleep. He gave her a small smile, but didn't take his hand off the doorknob. "I've got a funeral to go to this afternoon. I told you last night, remember?"_

_She giggled, and sauntered over to give him a peck on the cheek. "Of the things that happened last night, you really think I would've remembered something like that?" She caressed his cheek fondly. "See you next week?" _

_He caught her long fingers just as she was about to retract them, and kissed them. "Of course. Until then." _

_Deling City blared past him as he left the motel and turned onto the main city street – past the ornate hotel that reeked of wine, red velvet and sensuality. The street vendors hawking magazines and dreams of adventure ("Safari into the depths of mystery! Fight foes and fiends never before seen! Save the world!"). A tall teen read the latest copy of Weapons Monthly as a girl hung off his arm, exclaiming about nunchaku and trains (It must've been his imagination – even still, Irvine's tie suddenly becomes uncomfortably tight. He pulls at it agitatedly). _

_He stuck an arm out, waiting to be noticed in the clamouring sea of people – when his jacket pocket began to vibrate. Irvine took it out, checked the name on the caller ID, and answered it. _

"_Hey you." _

"_**Hey yourself**__." He could hear her smile. "__**Meeting go alright, I take it?**__"_

_He didn't pause, and it had stopped bothering him how smoothly he slips into the lie. Even though something inside him is suffocating, and always gasps a little whenever he speaks to her. "Really well. I'm on my way to the train station already, so I shouldn't be late." _

"_**Okay. I'll see you soon**__." _

"_Right." A taxi stopped in front of him. "I love you, Selphie."_

"_**Love you Irvy**__." _

_He watched Deling City slip by his window. Past that arch, past that clock tower, past the tall boy and yellow-wearing girl ("__**We're not the same people anymore**__") and the Caraway Mansion, falling into disrepair. _

_And his reflection. An Irvine, breathless. _


	5. v Caedes et iustitia

_iii. Caedes et iustitia una habitare non possunt_

"_**You have no new messages…"**_

---

Quistis has been to Balamb Hotel three times.

The first is wrapped in a blanket of GF induced mist, but she remembers the clean wood paneling of the lobby and the little casket of bright candies on the reception desk. It was the location of the handoff – where she went from little nameless Quisty to Quistis Trepe; someone with name, and entitlement. There, she was born again.

---

The bar of Balamb Hotel is also made out of wood, but is a deeper, richer mahogany. The amber of her alcohol clinks luxuriously against it and the crystal of her glass. But she drinks now to forget her surroundings, her name – searching for namelessness and facelessness at the bottom of each shot.

A sigh flits in her direction, and she turns to see Selphie perched on the bar stool beside her, purse on her lap, green eyes watery and sympathetic. When did she become as thin as a shadow? When had she become as quiet as darkness?

Then again, it's been awhile.

"Would you like a drink ma'am?"

"No thank you," Selphie declines the bartender politely. "Maybe a glass of seltzer water, though?"

They both watch him nod and turn away, before looking each other in the eye again.

"How weird is this." Curled brown head bowed, her friend draws circles on the polished bar surface. "You know you're sitting in his seat?" She raises her head and smiles wistfully at nothing. "A couple months after she left, Irvine and I had to come and fetch him here at ungodly hours of the night. Sometimes we'd have to drag him." She looks off into the distance, "I felt like the world was ending each time we had to come here and get him. But now that he's really gone, it's the first place I come to remember him." Selphie smiles self-depreciatingly at Quistis. "It's a little sad, isn't it?"

She doesn't reply; only lifts her drink to her lips and listens to Selphie continue quietly.

"So, where've you been, Quistis?"

---

The second was on one of her first assisted SeeD examinations. Galbadia spies had invaded the port, and she was barking out orders left and right. Things were descending into chaos, and, having lost her head, barged into the Hotel to free several of the hostages herself instead of waiting for orders. Only through the quick action of one of the examinees was her life saved.

Finally she murmurs, "All over. Deling City, Trabia, Fisherman's Horizon, Dollet." The dim lighting flickers in her clear blue eyes. "Spent most of my time in Centra though."

"Did you travel with anyone?"

"Sometimes together. More often alone."

Selphie twists the gold ring on her hand. "You told us you'd be back within a matter of months. You even missed my wedding…" She says, without a hint of blame. Instead, placing a maternal hand on Quistis' shoulder, "There must be a lot of things you were running from."

---

The third was one balmy summer months ago. Tangled up in the hotel's sheets, throbbing heart experiencing pain, and exaltation. The taste of slaughter and justice. Of ruining and rebuilding.

---

"You could say that." Quistis allows a weak smile, but true. "But regardless, it's time I come home."

"To stay?"

"What is there to make me leave?"

---

"_**You have no new messages…"**_


End file.
